The Devil's Company

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

HERE WAS NOW, I BELIEVED, LITTLE REASON TO FEAR FOR MR. FRANCO. Much trickery and scheming still abounded—I had no doubt of that—but the French were finished for the moment, so Mr. Franco need no longer fear for himself or his daughter. Still, Elias, my aunt, or myself might yet be tossed into debtor’s prison.

Mr. Franco was free to travel home by coach, though I declined to join him. It was late, I was exhausted in both body and spirit, and the next day would tax me even further, but I had one stop to make before I could retire. Everything would be resolved within a day’s time, but to ensure that it was resolved to my liking I would have to order things with particular care.

I therefore took a coach to Ratcliff Highway and, in the darkness of the quiet morning, when even the cries of London were reduced to whines and whimpers, I entered the very tavern where the clerk Mr. Blackburn had told me so much of value. Indeed, it was only in recent hours that I had come to understand the full extent of his information.

I found the tavern keeper, whom I recollected to be Blackburn’s brother-in-law, and, he recollecting me, I was able to overwhelm his natural caution and persuade him to inform me where I might find his relation. It was never his custom, he explained, to reveal a man’s home without his permission, but he saw no harm in revealing his place of business, and so he explained that the good clerk had taken a temporary position with a brewer of some note who wanted his books to be set right. Mr. Blackburn, I was told, was most eager to perform his task speedily and well, and could be found in the offices as early as seven o’clock.

I took my breakfast with the good man, partaking of some still-hot bread procured from a nearby baker and a bowlful of raisins and nuts, washed down with a crisp small beer. Then I made my way to New Queen Street, where I found the good Mr. Blackburn in a small windowless closet, surrounded by a pile of innumerable accounting and ledger books and appearing as happy a man as ever I’ve seen.

“Why, it’s Mr. Weaver,” he said. He rose and bowed at me from as comfortable a distance as he could manage. “As you can see I have landed upon my feet, sir, in the manner of a cat. The Company may attempt to smear my name, but the truth will out, and I believe the good people I now serve will tell the truth.”

“He’s a marvelous good clerk,” one of his fellows shouted, with evident humor.

“Our books have never been so well ordered,” called another.

I knew at once that Blackburn had found employment where both his services and his peculiarities could be enjoyed, and so I felt less uneasy on the score of his losing his former place. “I am relieved to hear you are so happy.”

“Prodigious happy,” he assured me. “These books, sir, are a disaster. It is as though a hurricane of numbers and errors has struck them, but they shall be made right. It is something of a pleasure, I must say, to find that the difficulties here are no more than mistake and ignorance—”

“Woeful ignorance,” called one of his fellows.

“—and not malice,” Blackburn finished, in a far quieter voice. “There are no cozening deceptions here, no secret expenditures and tricks meant to disguise any manner of mischief.”

“It is on that score I’ve come to see you,” I told him. “I have a question about a matter to which you once referred. Do you recollect that you spoke of a time when my patron asked you to disguise the loss of a certain sum from the books, and when you refused, you found the sum taken all the same?”

“I recall it well,” he said. “Though for some reason I do not recollect telling you.”

I chose not to dwell on that point. “Can you tell me the sum?”

He considered the request briefly. “I suppose they can do me no more harm than they have already.”

So he told me what I wished to know, and it was at that moment that my suspicions were confirmed and I believed I understood everything. Yet there was one more theory to test. The day would prove if I had the better of my enemies, or whether they were far more clever than I could even now perceive.

NEXT, I MADE MY way to Spitalfields, where I knocked repeatedly upon a door until it was, at last, answered by a meek creature whose nature I could not identify as servant, daughter, or wife. I explained that my business was of the most urgent sort and could not wait. She explained that men such as he needed their rest, and I retorted that what I brought was better than any night’s sleep. At last my will proved stronger than her defenses, and she invited me in. I sat in a dimly lit and dingy parlor, without refreshment, and attempted to resist the urge to sleep.

At last Devout Hale appeared in the door. He wore a dressing gown and cap, and though the poor light did much to blunt the effect of his scrofula, the cruelty of being awakened at this hour was plainly visible.

“By Jesus, Weaver, what can possibly bring you here at this hour? If you don’t have the king himself in tow, I don’t want to hear it.”

“Not a king,” I said, “but a king’s ransom. Sit down and I will tell you as little as you need to know to understand.”

He sat across from me, hunched over, apparently having some difficulty breathing. Nevertheless, he was soon enough wide awake and listening to my tale as I informed him of things I had previously held secret. I told him how Pepper had been far cleverer than any of them had suspected and invented a cotton weaving engine that would have rendered the East India Company’s trade routes worthless, and how French, British, and even Indian agents had been doing all in their power to recover it—each to protect the interests of his own nation.

“I have been told,” I explained, “that I must return these plans to the British Crown, for it is in this country’s best interest that the East India Company remain strong. I believe myself to be a patriot, Hale, but the heart of what I love in this kingdom is found in its people, its constitution, its liberties and opportunities, not in its companies. I take great pleasure in having helped to thwart the schemes of the French, but that does not mean I cannot see with my own eyes the dangers in handing the reins to the kingdom over to men who value nothing but money and profit.”

“Then what shall you do with the plans?” Hale asked.

“I will give them to the men and women who serve this kingdom not with their schemes but with their labor.” I reached into my pocket, pulled out Pepper’s octavo, and handed it to Hale. “I give it to the silk weavers.”

Hale said nothing. He pulled the oil lamp closer and began to examine the pages in the book. “You know I can’t read.”

“You will have to depend on those who can, and I suspect it will take some time to understand the contents. Yet you and your men will puzzle it out, and when you do, you will be in a position to dictate terms to those you wish. I ask only that you share the wealth with your fellow workers and not become the thing you despise. That book contains the promise of great riches to be endured over generations, and I hope you will give me your word that you will administer its possibilities with generosity rather than greed.”

He nodded. “Aye,” he said, somewhat breathlessly. “Aye, that can be done, Weaver. It may not yield wealth at all in my lifetime, but I shall manage it as best I can. But tell me, don’t you want any of that wealth for your own keeping?”

I laughed. “Should you become rich and wish to make me a gift, we can discuss it at that time, but no. I shall not form a joint stock company with you. I asked you to do me a favor, you may recall, to help me in an endeavor that, though I despised it, I needed to complete. You did, and you asked me for something in return, something I have been unable to grant. I give you this in lieu of what I could not deliver, and I hope you will consider my debt to you paid.”

“I accept it on those terms,” he said, “and God bless you.”

I WOULD NOT HAVE many hours to sleep before my next appointment, but I was determined to take what I could. I sent a note to Elias, asking him to come meet me at my rooms at eleven that morning, which should provide us with ample time to arrive at the meeting of the Court of Proprietors at noon. What I would say to Miss Glade when she demanded the book, I did not know. Perhaps I would tell her the truth. I should, even then, have liked more than anything to give her what she desired, to see if in that moment I might find some place in her that was not designing or scheming.

Indeed, she arrived at my rooms at half past ten. I was fortunately awake—after but an hour’s sleep—and dressed, and, though not at my most alert, still able to face whatever she might wish to say to me.

“You broke open the house?” she asked.

I smiled at her. It was my finest approximation of her own smile. “I was able to liberate Mr. Franco, but I could not find the book of plans. Edgar knew nothing, and Hammond took his own life. I searched the rooms, even the house as best as I could, but I could find no sign of it.”

She rose quickly, and her skirts fluttered about like leaves on a windy autumn day.

“You could not find it,” she repeated, not without skepticism.

“I could not.”

She stood and stared at me, hands on her hips. She may have been making an effort to appear angry—she may, for all I know, have been making no effort at all—but she seemed to me so astonishingly beautiful that I felt myself tempted to confess all. I resisted the temptation.

“You,” she pronounced, “are not being honest with me.”

I stood up to meet her eyes. “Madam, I resent you for forcing me to reply with so trite an expression, but in this case I must observe that what is sauce for the goose must be sauce for the gander. You accuse me of concealing the truth from you? On what occasion have you not concealed the truth from me? When have you not told me falsehoods?”

Her expression softened somewhat. “I have endeavored to be honest with you.”

“Are you even a Jewess?” I demanded.

“Of course I am.” She let out a sigh. “Do you believe I would make up such a thing merely to disarm you?”

“The thought has crossed my mind. If you are who you say,” I asked, “why do you speak, when unguarded, with the accent of a Frenchwoman?”

Here her lips curled into a half smile. Perhaps she did not like to be so exposed, but I knew she could not but approve of my skill in having detected her ruse.

“All I told you of my family is true,” she said, “but I never claimed to have told you every detail of my life. As it happens, I spent my first twelve years in Marseilles—a place, I might add, where Jews of my sort were no better loved by Jews of your sort than they are here. In any event, what signifies such a small detail?”

“It might have signified nothing, had you not hidden it from me.”

She shook her head. “I hid it from you,” she said, “because I knew there was French mischief about, and I did not wish you to suspect I might be part of it. Because I could not tell you all, I wished to hide from you that which I believed must give you a false idea.”

“And in the hiding, you merely impressed upon me the need to be suspicious.”

“It is an irony, is it not?”

Through an unspoken mutual understanding, we took our seats.

“And your early history?” I asked. “Your father’s death and debts, and your—protector?”

“Also true. I neglected to mention, however, that this protector was a man of some influence in the ministry and has risen to even greater influence. It was he who recognized my talents and asked me to serve my country.”

“By doing such things as seducing my friends?”

She looked down. “Do you honestly think I would have had to surrender to Mr. Gordon in order to obtain the information I wished? He may be a good friend and a stalwart companion, but he is not well equipped to resist the requests of women. I may have taken advantage of his interest, but my regard for you is such that I would not have created difficulties in the friendship by surrendering myself to him.”

“Which friendship?” I asked. “That with Elias or that with you?”

She grinned quite broadly. “Why, either, of course. And now that we have clarified matters, I hope we can discuss the book you perhaps found after all.”

I felt myself waver, but even if I believed her story, as I was inclined to, it did not mean I wished for the East India Company to have the book. She might believe herself to be in the right, and her sense of politics gave her every reason to wish to obtain Pepper’s plans, but my sense of justice could not deliver it.

“I must repeat that I could not find the plans.”

She closed her eyes. “You seem unconcerned that the French may have the engine.”

“I am concerned, and I should prefer that they fail miserably in their schemes, but I am a patriot, madam, not a servant of the East India Company. I do not believe it is the government’s concern to protect a company from the creative genius of invention.”

“I would not have thought you capable of this treachery,” she said. Her beauty, while not precisely gone, was hidden now under a mask of crimson anger. We discussed not some project in which she happened to be involved. Miss Glade, I saw, was a true devotee of her cause. That the British government and the British government alone should have sway over the plans mattered to her profoundly, and I had no doubt she understood my role in preventing that outcome.

“It is no treachery,” I said softly. “It is justice, madam, and if you were not so partisan in your views, you would see it.”

“It is you who are partisan, Mr. Weaver,” she said, somewhat more softly. I flattered myself that while she despised my actions, she understood I took them out of a belief in their rectitude. “I would have thought you might have come to trust me, to trust that I do what is best. I see that you will take guidance from no one. More the pity, for I see you understand nothing of this modern world.”

“And you understand nothing of me,” I said, “if you think that because I wish to please you I must also wish to please the East India Company. I have suffered before, madam, and I have learned it is better to suffer for what is right than to be given a sweetmeat as reward for what is wrong. You may continue to hunt down and kill inventors if you like—I cannot prevent it—but you must never make the mistake of thinking I will join the cause willingly.”

A smirk crossed her lips. “You served Cobb and there was no will there, sir. That is what your king’s servants understand of you—that you will fight and fight mightily too for a cause you don’t believe in to protect the people for whom you care. Don’t think we’ll forget it.”

“And while you are recalling what I will do while under duress, I beg you to recall that Cobb is now imprisoned and Mr. Hammond is dead. Those who would twist my will to their own ends have not fared so well as they would like.”

She smiled again, this time more broadly, then shook her head. “The sad truth of it is, Mr. Weaver, that I have always liked you very much. I believe things might have been very different if you had liked me. Not desired me, sir, the way a man may desire a whore whose name he never cares to learn, but harbored for me those feelings I was inclined to harbor for you.”

And so it was that she left me. With a glorious swish of her skirts she departed on that note of finality, so well suited to close a tragic stage play. She delivered her line with such strength that I believed indeed it was the last time I should have dealings with her, and I was inclined to think on my words, if not my conduct, with much regret. As it happened, however, this interview was not the last time I was to see Miss Celia Glade. Indeed, it was not even the last time I would see her that day.

ELIAS ARRIVED WITHIN half an hour of the time he had promised, which I considered very amiable for him. Indeed, I did not mind his lateness, for it gave me some time to regain my composure and to attempt to set aside the sadness I felt after Miss Glade’s visit.

I did not allow Elias to linger long, and we soon took a hackney to Craven House.

“How is it,” he asked me, “that we will be able to enter at will a meeting of the Court of Proprietors? Will they not turn us away at the door?”

I laughed. “Who would attempt to attend such a meeting without business? The very idea is absurd. There could be nothing more tedious and of less interest to the general public than a meeting of the East India Company.”

My understanding of those meetings was quite right, though in recent years we have seen that these meetings have become the subject of much public interest, theatrical rancor, and coverage by the papers. In 1722, however, even the most desperate paragraph writer would choose to fish optimistically in the most unfashionable Covent Garden coffeehouse rather than seek out news in so dull a place as a Craven House Court of Proprietors meeting. Had one such paragraph writer been there that day, however, he would have found his optimism well rewarded.

As I predicted, no one thought to question that we belonged there. We were both dressed in gentlemanly attire, so we fit in with the other hundred and fifty or so dark-suited types who filled the meeting hall. We were conspicuous only in being younger and less portly than the majority.

The meeting was held in a room that had been constructed for the specific purpose of these quarterly events. I had been in the room before, and it had struck me as having the sad emptiness of a deserted theater, but now it was full of life—sluggish, torpid life though it might be. Few of the members of the Court appeared particularly interested in the proceedings. They milled about, gossiping with one another. More than a few had fallen asleep in their seats. One man, among the few younger than myself, appeared to occupy himself by memorizing Latin verse. Some ate food they had brought with them, and one intrepid sextet had actually carried in a few bottles of wine and pewter tankards.

There was an elevated platform at the front and, upon it, a podium. When we entered the room a member of the Court of Proprietors was busy holding forth on the merits of a particular colonial governor whose worth had been questioned. As it turned out, this governor was also the nephew of one of the principal shareholders, and opinions ran, if not exactly hot, then at least toward the lukewarm.

Elias and I took seats in the back, and he immediately slouched into his chair and pulled his hat low. “I rather hate an anticlimax,” he said. “Please be so good as to wake me if anything happens.”

“You may leave if you like,” I told him, “but if you stay, you must stay awake. I need someone to entertain me.”

“Or you shall surely fall asleep yourself, I suppose. Tell me, Weaver, what do you expect to happen?”

“I’m not entirely certain. Perhaps our actions will have no perceptible consequences, but there has been much coming to a head. And, most importantly, Mr. Ellershaw’s fate hangs in the balance today. Forester will make a case against him, and even if the hand of Celia Glade is not visible in the outcome, even if the business with Cobb turns out to be irrelevant, I wish to see for myself how it plays out.”

“And for this I must stay awake?” he asked. “That’s not what I call friendship.”

“Neither is attempting to bed the woman I like,” I noted.

“I say, Weaver, I thought we had agreed not to speak of that anymore.”

“Except when I am attempting to manipulate you into behaving as I wish. Then I shall bring it up.”

“It’s rather rotten of you. How long do you plan to play me so?”

“For the rest of your life, Elias. If I don’t make light of it, it shall surely turn sour.”

He nodded. “I cannot argue with that. But I notice you say the rest of my life, not the rest of yours. Have you some secret of longevity I have not learned?”

“Yes. Not attempting to bed women desired by one’s friends. You must try it sometime.”

He was about to answer when I held up my hand.

“Hold,” I said. “I would hear this.”

One member of the Court of Proprietors, whose task it appeared to be to act as a sort of formal master of ceremonies, was in the process of informing the room that Mr. Forester, of the Court of Committees, needed to address the room on a matter of rather urgent business.

I suspected that when a gentleman wished to address the length of nails used in crates it was described as a matter of urgent business, for no one took particular notice. The sleepers dozed, the diners dined, the chatters chatted, and the scholar studied. My attention, however, was firmly upon the podium.

“Gentlemen,” Forester began, “I am afraid that there are two matters of urgent business upon which I am to speak today. One bodes well for the future of the Company, should we manage it well. The other is rather more unpleasant, and though I am loath to mention it at all, I fear it is my duty. But let us attend to productive things first.”

Forester signaled to a servant I had not seen before, who dashed over with a decorative lacquered box, swirling with gold and red and black, surely a product of the Orient. Upon the top was a handle in the shape of an elephant, and Forester lifted it and handed the top back to the servant. From the box itself he took out a compact roll of cloth. With this in hand, he returned the remainder of the box to the servant, who dashed off. Clearly there had been no need for the box at all, but I saw that Forester was a man who liked his drama, and I began to sense we would now observe a rather fascinating performance.

“I hold in my hand the future of the East India Company,” Forester announced. “As I need not tell you, it was one of the most disappointing moments in our organization’s history when Parliament passed the legislation making the domestic sale of India cloth so problematic. We are but weeks away from being forced to bar access to the cloth in our warehouses to our own citizens. Though there have been efforts to expand the markets for the few remaining cloths we may sell, the truth is that our Company failed to mount a proportionate counterattack to the wool interest, and now we may soon find ourselves with declining revenues. I will speak more of that later.”

I had no doubt, for Forester wished to lay the blame squarely upon Ellershaw’s shoulders, and unless Ellershaw could credibly promise a repeal of the legislation, his days were surely numbered.

“What has happened in Parliament is surely terrible,” he said, “and there have been rumors of more terrible developments to come. We have all heard it. There is a new engine, it is said, one capable of turning American cotton into an exact replica of India cloth—every bit as light and comfortable and elegant. Certainly the domestic dyeing industry has been perfecting its trade for years, and much of the India cloth enjoyed in this kingdom has been dyed here, so that if this American cotton could be spun in the mythic engine and then dyed here, it would be impossible for the consumer to tell the difference. I have no doubt that the experts of Craven House could find the slight variances, but not the consumers. Such an engine could mean the end of our cloth trade with the East.”

At this the crowd became far more energetic. Hisses and cries of nay filled the hall. Indeed, Elias, who had been feigning boredom, was now fully alert. “He knew of it all the time,” he whispered.

“I am here to tell you two things, gentlemen. First of all, the engine is real. I have seen its works.” The cries drowned him out, and he had to wait several moments before the Court was quiet enough to proceed. At last he did, though the din of the room made it difficult to hear. “Yes, it is true. The engine is real. But the second thing I must tell you is that this is not a moment of defeat but one of triumph. The engine has always been viewed as an enemy of the Company, but not if we own it. If it is ours, if we can use it as we like, for our profit—that, my friends, means riches beyond our imagination.”

He had the full attention of the Court. “Think of it. We continue to trade with India. We have our infrastructure there, and all of Europe craves India cloth. But we cease expansion in India and invest instead in North American cotton production. We obtain the cotton from the Americas, have it spun here on engines owned by Craven House itself, arrange for the dyeing, and then sell it domestically. Instead of being at odds with domestic textile production, we are woven into it, if you will excuse the play on words. Yes, the men of the wool interest will continue to give us trouble, but they will no longer be able to argue that we take bread from the mouths of domestic workers. Indeed, we will provide new employment and we shall become the idols of those who seek work. And since we will own the engines, their ability to dictate wages to us will be limited. With these new engines, we shall have absolute power over the textile industry, gentlemen: Indian cloth and foreign markets, American cotton and the home market.”

The room turned into an excited mass of voices. Men were standing and pointing, waving their hands about, nodding or shaking their heads. But most, from what I could divine, were excited about the notion.

For my part, I hardly knew how to understand it all. Everything I had done had been for nothing. The Company already had the engine; it would profit from it and turn the London laborer into its drudge. I could only take some pleasure in the fact that this revelation meant that not only had Cobb’s French masters lost out on their bid to control the engine but so had Celia Glade and her British masters. The Company had beat them all.

After some minutes of chaos in which Forester tried, unsuccessfully, to regain mastery of the room, I heard a loud call for attention.

“Hold!” the voice shouted. “Hold, let us hold!” It was Ellershaw. He entered the room with a confidence I had never seen in him before. His suit was new and clean and neat, and his bearing was still shambling, but it contained an authority I would have called almost regal.

Ellershaw strode onto the elevated platform and toward the podium.

“You must hold,” Forester said to him. “I have not yielded the floor.”

“Yes, you have,” Ellershaw said. “What you discuss is too important to allow the rules of procedure to silence conversation.”

“That may be so,” Forester sneered, “but the conversation will not be assumed by a madman whose brain is universally known to be disordered from exposure to a scandalous disease.”

A great gasp emerged from the crowd, and I observed so many nods and secret whispers that I understood the rumors of his having been rendered mad from the French pox were widely distributed. So it was that I began to have an inkling of Ellershaw’s malicious genius.

“Universally known, is it? It is not so known by me, or by any medical man who has taken the time to examine me, rather than a foolish knave who spreads malice. Why, I see in this very hall a surgeon who has examined me. You, sir!” He pointed to Elias. “Stand and tell the gathering if you believe me to have any affliction that could lead to a distemper of the brain.”

Elias was reluctant to stand, but Ellershaw continued to urge, and the rumblings of the crowd began to sound menacing.

“You had better do it,” I said.

Elias rose and cleared his throat. “I have examined the gentleman,” he announced. “I have found no evidence of the disease mentioned, nor any other that can result in delirium.”

Murmurs once more spread through the crowd, and Ellershaw only regained command by pounding upon the podium with a thick quarto that slammed down like a gavel.

“You see!” he cried. “Rumors accepted without basis. Now, if we may tend to the matter at hand, I would discuss this machine-produced calico Forester speaks of.” He turned to that gentleman. “At the very least, you must allow us to examine this cloth. You say it is as good as India textile, but we have only your word that it is not rough, heavy stuff the public will reject. There have been numerous new engines that have been predicted as our doom, but none of them yet have been worth a fig.”

Forester tried to block Ellershaw, but the big man pushed forward and took the roll of cloth directly into his big hands. He examined it, rubbed his hand along it, held it up to the light, even smelled it. He then paused and appeared lost in thoughtful reflection.

“Even you, sir, who have stood in my way, must admit that this is the very thing,” Forester said, his voice nearly cracking with triumph. “Can you find a thing wrong with it?”

Ellershaw shook his head. “No, sir, I cannot,” he said.

I knew, however, that there was more to come, for there was no concession in his voice. If anything, Ellershaw masked a smile, and he spoke loud enough for the room to hear. These were words not privately exchanged but performed upon a stage.

“I cannot find a thing wrong with it,” he said, “because this is India cloth, you blockhead. You have wasted our time with this nonsense.”

The room was now alight again, but Forester tried to stop the chaos. “If it is so like the original that even a man like Ellershaw finds it hard to tell the difference, does it not prove the cloth’s value?”

Now Ellershaw did laugh, a loud, resonating boom. “You have been duped, sir. Someone has tricked you. I tell you this is India cloth, and if you were a true Craven House man—if you’d served your time in India as I have—you would know it.” He unrolled two feet or so of the cloth and held it before the room. “Gentlemen, without even touching it, can you not observe that Forester is mistaken?”

The room went silent for a moment as they studied the cloth. What was it they were supposed to see? I had no idea. But then one voice called out, “Why, that’s been dyed in India. I know that pattern.”

“Yes, yes,” another called. “There’s not a dyer on this island that can replicate that. It’s India cloth.”

The room now went mad. They could all see it, or the ones that could not pretended to. They pointed and laughed. They hooted.

This time, however, Ellershaw was able to bring the room to relative quiet in short order. Somehow the enormity of what had just happened allowed for a return to orderly behavior. Though Forester remained upon the platform, he appeared disordered and confused. Red in the face and shaking in the limbs, I supposed he wanted nothing more than to flee this humiliation, but somehow fleeing would be more humiliating than enduring.

How had such a thing come to pass? I recalled Aadil, the Indian spy, who pretended to serve Forester. Clearly he had helped to orchestrate this downfall. Forester sought the engine, which would have hurt Indian trade. The Indian spy had struck back by sabotaging Forester’s plans, pretending to acquire domestically produced textiles while instead providing Indian textiles, knowing this moment of exposure must come.

“Friends, friends,” Ellershaw said, “let us come to order. This affair is not comic but, rather, cautionary. Mr. Forester is quite right that we have heard rumors of these new engines, and he was right to be vigilant. Can he be blamed because some unscrupulous scoundrels, no doubt out to make a profit from his ignorance, deceived him? Mr. Forester has reminded us to remain on our guard, and for that we must thank him.”

I was struck by how quickly Ellershaw had taken charge of this chaos. The room burst into cheers and applause, and Forester was, much to my astonishment, able to retreat with something like honor. I supposed he would be forced to resign from the Court, but at least he could walk out of the room with the illusion of dignity.

Once Forester was gone, Ellershaw returned to the podium once more. “I know that it is not my time to talk, but as I am up here already, may I say a few words?”

The man who had introduced Forester nodded vigorously. Ellershaw was now a hero. Had he asked for permission to light the room on fire, surely it would have been granted.

“Gentlemen, I spoke the truth when I said we must be vigilant against these new engines, but I may also have been guilty of praising myself. You see, I have been vigilant. The rumors are all too true. There are indeed plans for such an engine, not one capable of producing textiles identical to India cloth but a step in that direction. And I believed it was in this company’s best interest to suppress this machine, lest it lead to the refining of further engines that could, someday, challenge our markets. It is for that reason that I have gone to considerable lengths to obtain the only extant copy of the plans for this machine.” He then reached into his coat pocket and removed a small octavo volume.

Even from the distance at which I sat I knew there could be no doubt of it. It was the very volume I had delivered to Devout Hale that morning.

“Now, I know there has been some dissatisfaction with my performance here of late,” Ellershaw continued. “There are some voices who claim I could have done more to thwart the wool interest and prevent the imminent legislation, which will certainly prove a challenge to us in years ahead. I do not think it is true. I have never ceased to work for the repeal of that legislation, but there is only so much we can do, and the wool interest has a long and deep connection to the Parliament dating back to time immemorial. I have no doubt that we will regain our lost ground, but in the end there is much to do to expand the markets that remain open and to guard our rights and privileges fiercely. In having stopped this engine, I believe I have proved my worth.”

The crowd apparently agreed with him, for it exploded in cheers and huzzahs. Ellershaw basked in the glow, and at last, when the room was quiet once more, he prepared to conclude his business.

“I do not wish to suggest that I have done all this on my own. I have had a great deal of help, and I wish now to acknowledge those who have assisted me. Our Company has a new advocate, a man who has come over from the wool interest to pursue our cause in Parliament. I should like all of you to welcome into our circle Mr. Samuel Thurmond. He has long served the wool interest, but for the past session he has been covertly working for our company, and he has vowed to use all his influence to repeal the odious legislation.”

The old man rose and waved his hat for a moment, a cheerful grin upon his face. Here was not the dour man under Ellershaw’s threats, or the tentative schemer who met secretly with Forester. Here, I saw, was a clever man, into the final portion of his life, who wished to secure some comfort for himself and perhaps the son Ellershaw had mentioned. The scheme with the pretended textiles had been perpetrated against Forester with Thurmond’s aid. The threats against the old man, the confrontation in Sadler’s Wells had been staged, I now perceived, for my benefit and for Forester’s. Indeed, I understood at last that my very presence in Craven House had been for Forester’s benefit—to make him believe his schemes were threatened by an outside inquiry—so that he might focus his suspicions upon me rather than Thurmond. It was to make him feel that a scheme was afoot, and to spur him on to strike that he might fail and, in his failing, set the stage upon which Ellershaw might climb for his triumph.

The room was now a scene of glad mayhem, with Ellershaw shaking hands, and members of the Court slapping Thurmond on the back, welcoming him to their project as though he were a hero. It seemed to me a most curious thing, since he had obtained this status by betraying his longtime allies. What, I wondered, would prevent him from betraying the schemers of Craven House? Perhaps, I thought, it signified nothing. Ellershaw had made it clear, after all, that these were men who lived from one quarter to the next, one Court meeting to another. What mattered a future betrayal when measured against an immediate success?

I felt myself mightily disgusted by these displays, and I thought to tell Elias that I would endure no more of it, but when I looked up I observed Thurmond shaking hands with a most unexpected attendee. It was none other than Moses Franco.

A thousand thoughts passed through my mind as I attempted to understand why Franco would be here and why he would be upon such friendly terms with Thurmond and several other of the Company men. Then I observed that he excused himself and maneuvered his way toward the main entrance leading to the bulk of Craven House. He opened the main doors and quickly closed them behind himself, but not so quickly that I did not see that someone awaited him outside, and from the look of clothes and body language I guessed that person to be Celia Glade.

I EXCUSED MYSELF TO ELIAS, saying nothing more than that I would return, and then pushed my way through the crowd. As I did so, Ellershaw grabbed on to my shoulder and met my startled expression with a grin, far more secure and competent than any look I had previously seen upon his face.

“Think not, because I neglected to thank you publicly, that I consider your contribution any smaller than Mr. Thurmond’s,” he said.

I ignored this barb and pushed my way forward. At length, I separated myself from the room and studied the open space of the house. Luckily, I saw the pair I sought making their way down the hallway to a small closet I knew to have been recently vacated. They must have either expected no intrusion or minded none, for they did not close the door, and upon my arrival at the threshold, I observed Miss Glade handing Mr. Franco a purse.

“What betrayal is this?” I asked, my voice booming loud enough to startle them both.

“Mr. Weaver,” Franco said cheerily, though now entirely without the accent he had affected in my presence. “I am so glad to see you, now that this is all over. There are going to be some recriminations—I know it cannot be helped—but let me say now that I am in your debt, sir, and have nothing but esteem and honor for you.”

My expression must have presented to him some intelligence he did not desire, for he turned to Miss Glade. “He has already been informed of this particular, has he not?”

The lady blushed. “I’m afraid I have not yet had an opportunity to tell him.”

“You are a spy?” I boomed.

Miss Glade put a hand upon my arm. “Take not your anger out upon him. If you are to blame anyone, you may blame me.”

“And you may depend upon my doing so. How dare you make so free with my feelings and loyalties? Have you no idea of how I tormented myself with guilt over this man’s incarceration? And now I find he was a spy in your service?”

Franco held up his hands to me as if in surrender, an effect not a little marred by his newly got purse, clutched in one hand. Nevertheless, more than trembling with fear, he turned red with mortification, and I sensed that he did indeed regret his deception. The earnestness of this evident regret so disarmed me that I stood still, having no notion of what I should say or do.

Miss Glade chose to take pity on my uncertainty. “Blame not this man,” she said. “He was but an unfortunate as you were, forced against his will into Cobb’s service.”

“Upon my arrival in London, I’m afraid I made some rather poor choices with my money, including an investment in Mr. Pepper’s engine—a scheme that brought me to the attention of Cobb. He contrived to acquire my debts as he did with you and your friends, and he then demanded of me that I form a connection with your family.”

“Your daughter was a spy too?” I asked, the disgust in my voice undisguised.

“No,” he said. “Alas, I could not depend upon so sweet a creature to deceive you, so I dissimulated with her as well. Allow me to say, however, that had the two of you found each other more agreeable, I should have had no objection to a match.”

“You do me too much kindness,” I said with bitterness.

He shook his head. “When I observed that the two of you would not form a match, I sent her to Salonica, that she might be well away from this madness. I am sorry, sir, very sorry, to have been made to deceive you. I can only hope, when you hear all, that you will not regard me with so much distaste.”

“Rather than nursing your indignation toward Mr. Franco,” Miss Glade said, “you may discover you wish to thank him. It was out of regard for you that he contacted the ministry and chose to turn coat and join with us.”

“It is true,” Franco said. “I knew Cobb to be a villain, and you to be a man of honor, and so—with my daughter safely abroad—I risked my safety in order to work for, rather than against, my new home. Sadly, one condition of my service was that you could know nothing of all this.”

“And why?”

Miss Glade laughed. “Is it not evident that you are too nice in convictions to be trusted in a matter such as this, when what is right and what is wrong is a matter of some ambiguity? We knew you would never willingly serve the French and that you must rally, if given the choice, to your own kingdom. We were less certain that you could be depended on if there was a conflict between your notion of what was best for the kingdom and ours.”

I snorted with disgust. “And so you played me like a puppet.”

“We had no wish to,” Franco said most pitiably.

“Mr. Weaver, you have been a man in this world long enough to know that we cannot always be used as we wish, and at times we must sacrifice our own inclinations for the good of something greater. If I were to learn my government had deceived me to such an end, I should not object. I should always choose they do so rather than be the loser for it.”

“And that is your choice,” I said. “Not mine. I know better than to believe the government makes a good bargain by supporting this Company. Two great powers can never live well together, and the time will come when the one must seek to crush the other.”

“The day may come,” Miss Glade told me, “when the ministry will be at odds with Craven House, but right now we are at odds with the French, and the French wish to destroy the East India Company as a means of destroying our power abroad. Politics cannot always be about what is moral and right and good for all men and for all time. It must be about what is expedient now, and what is the lesser evil.”

“That is a wretched way to manage a nation. You are no better than the Company men, thinking only from one quarter to the next.”

“It is the only way to manage a nation,” she said. “Any other method is doomed to failure.”

After a pause, she turned to Franco.

“I believe you have presented your case as well as you might,” Miss Glade said to him. “May I suggest you leave us that we may exchange a word in private?”

He did so, bowing once more and rushing from the room. Miss Glade then closed the door and turned to me, her mouth wide, showing me an enchanting grin of white teeth.

“So,” she said. “You are angry with me?”

“You speak to me as though we have some connection in which my anger might disturb you. You are nothing to me but a betrayer and a manipulator.”

She shook her head. “I won’t believe it. You are angry with me, but you do not consider me those things. Your pride is hurt because I have had the advantage over you for these three weeks, but I think when you consider the matter at greater length, you will come to see me in a kinder light. Assuming, of course, you do not already. I think you rather like me more than you will admit.”

I did not answer, for I neither wished to confess nor to lie. Instead, I said, “Tell me this. You suggest the French killed Baghat. Did they kill Carmichael? And what of Pepper?”

“As for Carmichael, we have uncovered information that leads us to suspect that one of Ellershaw’s men had it done.”

“What?” I demanded. “You will let him get away with such a thing?”

“You must understand what the risks are here. This is a struggle of nations for world power, for an empire the likes of which has never before been seen. Such a prize is to be desired, yes, but even more so, that our enemy may obtain it must be fought at all costs. Do you wish for France to dominate Europe and the world? Have you considered how well our people do under English rule—here and in the colonies? Shall I tell you about life in the Catholic countries on the continent?”

“I am aware of those matters,” I said.

“I have nothing but hatred for Ellershaw, and I, like you, wish he could be punished for his crimes, but this is a war—a war as real and with as great, if not greater, consequences as the kind fought by great armies upon battlefields. If we must endure a rascal like Ellershaw, then we must endure him—just as kings must endure monsters who sometimes make for remarkable commanders in the field.”

“So he is not punished?”

“He cannot be. Even if we had proof, which we lack, it would be unwise to move against him.” Here she smirked at me. “And none of your rough justice, if you please. Should any unfortunate accidents befall Mr. Ellershaw, I don’t believe the ministry would let the matter rest, and I would not be in a position to protect you. You must seek retribution in your other way.”

I could not know what she meant by those words, but I suspected she knew more of my mind than I would like. I turned away from her, crossing my hands behind my back. “And what of Absalom Pepper? Who killed him, and shall that person face justice?”

“I notice you turn away from me when you ask that question,” she said. “You do not trust yourself?”

Anxiety and admiration filled me in equal measures, but I could not ignore the challenge. I therefore turned to her. “Who killed him?”

“I think you know the answer,” she said, with the little smile that I had come to find both infuriating and irresistible.

“If I knew, would I not visit justice accordingly?”

“I believe you will.”

“And you will not stop me?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Can the ministry approve?”

“The ministry will not know.”

I studied her very narrowly, wondering if she planned some sort of ambuscade upon me. “Yet you will not attempt to stop me?”

“You must not think me blind in my loyalty. I would do anything to keep France from gaining the power Britain seeks, but that does not mean I am unable to envision what these companies represent. You are right to wonder what happens when they grow too powerful, and I am in agreement with you that it is better that their power be curtailed while we possess a weapon with which to strike. And so you may do as you wish, and I shall, in every official capacity, take no notice of it. In a more private setting, however, I believe you will know of my approbation.”

My surprise was complete. “It appears, Miss Glade, that you and I may share more of a sense of justice than I had originally conceived.”

“Can you have doubted it? I know you act as you think best, and because I am not in disagreement, I shall aid you as I can. As for the debts harbored against you and your friends, you may depend upon that matter being resolved by the ministry. I cannot, however, pay you the twenty pounds discussed.” She looked remarkably saucy as she mentioned the last point.

“I shall endeavor to endure the loss.”

“It shall be greater than you think, for I expect you to buy me a rather nice trinket in demonstration of your appreciation. And affection,” she said, taking my hand.

I did not wish to appear—or to be—prudish, but I had not yet come to trust this lady, and I did not know with any certainty that she would still not betray me. It was for that reason I did not react more strongly to her advances, which were, I must say, most welcome.

She could not but sense my hesitation. “Come now, Mr. Weaver. Will you only court women like Mrs. Melbury, whose sense of propriety leads them to reject you? I should think you must be delighted to have met a woman not only of your nation but of your inclinations as well.”

“You are very bold,” I said. Despite my best wishes, I felt myself grinning as well.

“If it is boldness to speak the truth when alone with a like soul, then I confess the crime. I know what has passed between us may have given you a poor account of me,” she said, now in a softer tone. She took my hand with a gentleness I found both startling and thrilling. “Perhaps you will call upon me when you are feeling less wounded and we may start anew.”

“Perhaps I shall do that.”

“Good,” she said. “But do not take too long, or I shall be forced to come looking for you. Indeed, I may be asked to come look for you in a less personal capacity, for I can assure you the ministry has had every reason to applaud my earlier intercession on your behalf, and now all the talk is of Weaver and how he can be made to serve the king.”

I took my hand away. “I do not believe I should like serving the king in such a capacity. As you observed, I am not inclined to bend my sense of rectitude for expedience.”

“There may come a time when the kingdom requires a favor that presents no conflict. I hope you will not close your mind to it.”

“And if I have no interest, then shall I call upon you all the same?”

“I beg of you that you do not delay,” she answered.

Had we been in a private room, I know not where this conversation might have led, but an empty closet in Craven House during a meeting of the Court of Proprietors seemed to me hardly the most fitting temple in which to worship Venus. With the understanding that we should not be long from each other’s company we therefore parted, she no doubt certain that she had begun our relations with a triumph. I departed to seek out Elias and tell him what I had learned, and I walked with a verve to my step.